


Rebirth

by RunawayCaboose



Series: Bury Me Here [3]
Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: Disreality, Homesickness, M/M, Magic, Storms, Surrealism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 16:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayCaboose/pseuds/RunawayCaboose
Summary: Conor left Bury in a pickup truck that didn't belong to him and a jacket that wasn't his own. He tries to move on, he really does, but Bury is still constant in the back of his mind and he's sure that he will never be able to forget it and he is just as sure that he will never be able to go back.





	

Conor ends up driving with Samuel, the man that picked him up in the truck, for a week. They bond, they talk, Conor tries not to think about Bury, tries not to think about Eamon, tries not to think about his storms and just focus on the moment in front of him.

They get to where Samuel is going, Portland, and Samuel buys him a milkshake from Dairy Queen and they sit on the hood of his truck, the scene illuminated by streetlights and the night sky that Conor avoids looking at.

And then Samuel kisses Conor and it feels so… Limited. Conor feels nothing instead of everything and the expanse of the universe is just missing and Conor pushes him back.

“I think I should go.” Conor says, sliding down from the truck. His milkshake is still half full and he leaves it next to Samuel. “Thanks for giving me a ride.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go.” Samuel’s voice is full of regret and that is exactly what Conor is feeling at that second. “You don’t have anywhere to go.” Conor hates to admit it, but Samuel is right. He’s got nowhere, his home is gone. “You can come to my apartment, stay until you’re on your feet, at least.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.” Conor murmurs, scuffing his shoes against the pavement, balling his hands deeper in the pockets of Eamon’s jackets. Samuel laughs, light and happy and too loud in the night, but there’s no one around to tell him to be quieter. Conor briefly wonders if Samuel is who he could have been if he never moved to Bury. 

“What, you think just because a guy kisses you and then offers you his apartment, he’s being taken advantage of?” Samuel jokes, but it doesn’t land and Conor is still standing, awkwardly. He clears his throat. “Conor, no offense, but I can tell that you’ve been through something rough. My guess is that you got kicked out or something, and not by a significant other, if you know what I mean.” Conor does. “Is that anywhere to being close?”

“Yeah.” Conor’s voice is rough and he’s not lying because he did just get kicked out of his home and his house and it was kind of by a significant other, but also by some kind of omnipotent force that was the town of Bury. 

“You’re somebody who’s down on their luck and doesn’t have any money or a place to go and I’m a nice guy, yeah? So, you want to stay with me?” Samuel asks, he looks so hopeful, eyes so wide, a smile barely playing on his lips.

“Okay.” Conor relents and Samuel whoops.

“Sweet! Now come finish your milkshake and I’ll take you back to my apartment.”

Conor stays in Samuel’s apartment for six months and they become good friends. Samuel is nice and kind and never tries to kiss Conor again and Conor appreciates it. Conor finds a job, some small thing at a bakery and it isn’t a lot, but he makes money and he sets up a bank account.

Time doesn’t make a lot of sense to him anymore. Every day is different and even though he has a routine, nothing makes the days go faster, they don’t blur together anymore, they are distinct and separate and it takes so long for him to get used to it. It takes so long for him to stop expecting it to rain on Monday afternoon and it takes so long for him to not be surprised every time he walks outside and sees the sun. It’s overcast sometimes, yeah, but it’s nothing like the clouded sky in Bury. Conor doesn’t think anything will be like Bury ever again. In this thought hides many other thoughts that are tucked away in Conor’s subconscious mind. Conor will never have a home again, Conor will never have someone he loves again, Conor will never have something that makes him as happy as his storms again.

Some of his habits break, like the time and the birds not singing until nine thirty and the sunsets on Saturdays and the using of money, but he still expects every little girl he sees to have sharp teeth and he expects every book he opens to have blacked out words. 

Eventually, after those six months, he gets his own apartment. It’s still close to Samuel’s and in this instance, close means the next apartment over because Samuel’s neighbor moved out and Samuel persuaded Conor to take it, telling Conor that he needs his own space and not to worry, he will still be next door if Conor ever needs anything. 

When Conor moves his boxes into his own apartment, he expects to find books that aren’t his, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t find any books because he doesn’t have any, he didn’t take any with him. Conor doesn’t go to a library or a bookstore because he’s afraid that he’ll find librarians that aren’t hundreds of years old in the body of a twenty year old. 

Living in Bury changed him. Loving in Bury changed him. Leaving Bury changed him. 

Conor isn’t comfortable with this world, this reality, not entirely. It fits him strangely, like he’s wearing something that’s too tight in the arms and too loose in the collar. It’s uncomfortable, but not unbearable. 

He gets used to it eventually, a world without strange people and a city where the sun shines and a job that he has and bills that he pays. And then one day it’s been a year since he left Bury and he still misses Eamon and he still wishes he was back in Bury, but the wound isn’t fresh anymore. It still stings, it still aches when it rains, but it’s a dull pain, bearable. 

Conor buys a car, something cheap and second-hand and it feels nice to buy something, to own something. 

Conor tries to move his life forward without looking back, he doesn’t want to look back, but he knows that he’ll never forget Bury and he’s never once wanted to forget about Eamon. 

On the bad days when it rains the hardest, Conor will curl up in his bed in Eamon’s jacket and try not to cry as he thinks about Eamon and the lightning that used to be in his own blood. 

Conor is making eggs on a Sunday morning when something whispers behind him. He doesn’t pay it any mind for a second, it’s probably nothing, just the wind. But then he takes a second, glances around, listens. He can barely make it out, but it’s one word over and over and over again. ‘Stay’.

And he’s thrown back to the library and the blacked out books and Eamon and the papayas and the woman in her rocking chair and the far East Side and the abyss and the nothingness and the-

When Conor finally calms down, he finds himself sitting on his kitchen floor, eggs horribly burnt. He scrapes the blackened scraps from the frying pan into the trash can and he can still hear the whispering, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. He’s just imagining it. Conor glances at the window, before turning and opening his fridge. Then he glances back at the window. It’s raining outside, pouring down and he could’ve sworn that it wasn’t a few minutes ago.

Tentatively, Conor reaches deep into his mind and flexes a muscle he hasn’t used in so long, a power that he thought he couldn’t use anymore. The rain stops and Conor just stares, surprised. He tries again and it starts to rain. Again, and it stops. Again and again and again and it must be so confusing to everyone else in the city, but Conor is so happy and he’s laughing so hard he’s nearly crying and then he’s just flat-out crying, tears falling like the rain outside and he knows what it means.

It’s time to go back to Bury.

Conor tells Samuel that night, tells him that he’s going home. Samuel just smiles ruefully at him.

“Well, there’s no way I can change your mind. Good luck, be careful.” Samuel pulls Conor into a tight hug. “It’s been so good knowing you, I wish you could’ve stayed longer.”

Conor leaves the next morning, the few belongings he has back in boxes and shoved into his car.

He drives overnight and for much longer than he should, trying not to look up at the night sky and napping at rest stops. It takes him a week to get back and the whole time he is buzzing with nervous energy and the lightning shifts in his blood and under his skin. He has never been so happy to have his hair not lay flat. 

Conor almost cries when he mounts the hill that he remembers driving over so many years ago when he first came to Bury because Bury is still there. He wonders briefly why he couldn’t see it the night he left, but maybe Bury had shut its doors to rebuild, maybe it’s because he was with Samuel, there’s an endless number of possibilities that Conor can’t be bothered to run through at the moment because he is so overwhelmed and Bury is still  _ there _ .

He parks his car in front of his old house, still standing there, welcoming him back. Bury has changed, yeah, some buildings are different colours and some buildings aren’t there anymore and there are new ones in their places and there are people on the streets, but the sky is still overcast and it still feels the same. 

Somebody walking by stops as Conor climbs out of his car, studying him through narrowed eyes.

“You new?” She asks and Conor can see her forked tongue flick against her white teeth. 

“No, no, I’m not.” Conor answers and it feels so good to be back home, it feels so good to back in the right place. The snake girl studies him for a second. 

“Oh, you’re one of the old ones. Well, have a nice day, I guess.” She waves at him before she turns and keeps walking down the street, passing someone who’s skin shimmers in the light.

“Conor!” Somebody calls and Conor turns around, searching. It’s the old woman in her rocking chair on the porch neighboring porch. “Welcome back, Conor.”

“Thank you!” Conor calls back, grinning, he’s not the only one to come back. “I’m a little bit ashamed to admit this, but I don’t know your name. What is it?”

“There are some questions you don’t ask here.” She reminds him, winking slyly. “I guess it’s going to take you a little while to remember that, huh?” Conor laughs, running a hand through his hair, he’s never felt better in his life. “You should go. You know what you came back here for.” Conor hesitates for just a second before nodding, turning, walking down the street. And then he’s running, flat out sprinting to the street where the grocery store used to be and he hopes it’s still there, prays it’s still there.

It is and Conor has never felt so relieved to see a building.

He pushes through the door, bell ringing once above his head. Conor freezes, halfway through the door because he’s made eye contact with the person behind the counter and oh, God, oh  _ God _ .

Conor runs across the small store, nearly running into the high counter as he skirts it, and he throws his arms around Eamon. Eamon who he loved and who he never stopped loving and who he thought was dead and who he cried for and who he mourned for and who he couldn’t look up at the night sky for because the star inside of Eamon had killed him, or at least Conor had thought so, but here is Eamon and he is standing and he is breathing and he has his arms wrapped around Conor and his skin is so warm. 

“I fucking- I missed you, I missed you so much.” Conor has his face buried in Eamon’s shirt and he’s trying not to cry and Eamon’s grip just tightens on him. 

“I missed you too.” Eamon’s voice is quiet and rough and raw and Conor steps back, out of the hug, so he can look at Eamon, but he keeps his hands on Eamon’s arms, he doesn’t want to let go yet.

Eamon doesn’t look that different. His eyes are the same and his hands are the same, but there’s a spiderweb of thin white lines tracing down his left cheek and down his neck and disappearing underneath the collar of his shirt. Eamon reaches out, brushes his hand against Conor’s cheek.

“You haven’t changed at all.” He murmurs, Conor is still under his touch. “I didn’t realize that you wouldn’t age outside of Bury.”

“How are you here?” Conor manages to ask because it is something that needs to be asked and it is something that Conor needs to know. “You- You were going to fall into the far East Side and you were going to…”

“There’s a lot we need to talk about.” Eamon says and Conor snorts because that is such an incredibly elegant understatement. 

Eamon closes his shop early, walks with Conor to a coffee shop that’s just around the corner.

“It’s new.” Eamon tells him. “One of the newcomers, Gi, he just found it standing here one day and he started it right up. It’s been pretty great, honestly.” There are no bells around his head when they walk in and Eamon guides Conor to a table in the corner and they sit down together. They’re both silent for a few moments, neither of them can tell if it’s awkward or not. 

“We’ve got things to talk about.” Conor eventually breaks the silence that clung to them both. “So. You start. How are you alive? Did you not jump into the abyss?” Eamon winces.

“I did.” He admits, speaking slowly. “I did. And it was horrible and as soon as I did, I felt nothing except an incredible expanse and then I woke up on the street with my head against the pavement. I don’t know how it happened, but I think somehow the black hole and the anti-reality or whatever, I think they fixed each other? But I’m not sure. I just know that the black hole split me and broke me,” He traces the white lines across his cheek lightly and Conor notices them on his hand too and wonders how much of him they cover. “I think this is where it happened and I shouldn’t be alive, I shouldn’t be here right now, but something happened.” Someone walks over to their table, a tall person with long fingers and an easy smile, like he already knows so much about Conor, and he sets two coffees down on the table. Conor sips his. It’s perfect. “I think Bury saved me. I think I might be Bury now.”

“Excuse me?” Conor isn’t sure he heard right, he’s reasonably sure every reasonable person would do a double take at that sentence, even if they have lived in Bury. Eamon laughs lightly.

“Bury gave me a new power, I guess you’d call it. I… It’s hard to describe.” Eamon pushes his glasses back up his nose, but they weren’t slipping in the first place. “I tell people that it’s time to come to Bury, or come back to Bury. Or I might guide Bury to them and then Bury brings them back. Or I might mark them so Bury knows who to reel in. I disconnect my mind and I search for people and then I find them and I tell them it’s time to come here.” Eamon smiles again and his eyes light up and it is so nice to see. “The new people, the newcomers, they’ve taken to calling me the Gatekeeper of Bury. I… I looked for you a lot. I was so happy when I found your apartment.”

“That was you?” Conor is surprised, he’d thought it was everything except Eamon, Eamon wasn’t even a possibility. “You made me burn my eggs, I was really looking forward to those eggs.”

“I’m sorry.” Eamon apologizes, much too sincere, smile gone from his face. Conor can’t believe that he’s really apologizing for burnt eggs. “For not finding you sooner, I mean.” So it wasn’t for the eggs. “I don’t know why it took so long and I’m sorry, I would’ve done it faster if I could’ve.”

“It’s okay.” Conor reassures him, touching Eamon’s hand lightly. “Is everyone else back, then?”

“Yeah.” Eamon nods and he looks proud. “Everyone except Craig, who I think found another town like Bury, but I know he got married and his husband has deer horns so.” There’s silence for a few seconds.

“I missed you.” Conor admits. “I missed you so much. I thought I was never going to see you again, I’m so glad you’re alive. Y’know, I never could let go of you, I never really wanted to.”

“I love you.” Eamon blurts before blinking, alarmed with what he just said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s been years and you might’ve moved on and I’m sorry, but I still care about you and I still lo-”

“Shut up, you goof, I love you.” Conor leans across the table and kisses Eamon and it is nothing like those years ago in his kitchen or with Samuel. He can’t feel the universe, he can’t feel everything at once, he can’t feel the constant expansion and contraction and movement of the fabric of everything, but he can feel the presence of something, something hovering, something watching, a network and a web and Bury, he can feel bury and the people that are its lifeblood moving through their routines, unaware of the presence of something watchful in the sky, whether that be Eamon or the spirit of Bury itself, Conor isn’t sure, but he can feel it and he’s grinning so widely when they break apart. “I’m so glad to be back.” Rain starts to fall outside of the coffee shop, dotting the windows and covering the pavement so quickly and Conor is happy, he is so happy to be back in Bury and he is so happy to have Eamon back and he is so happy that he is here. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was a lot of fun. as always, you can find me @ taptaptapping.tumblr.com and if you want to chat about this world or have a question about it, leave it below and i'll get back to you


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